


Twine on the Docks

by Steampunk_Hobbit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: A Shortage of Boots Quest, Celondim, Drabble, Elves, Ered Luin, Eruimin is frustrated with Tanathron, Gen, LotRO Spring Festival, spring festival, wet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steampunk_Hobbit/pseuds/Steampunk_Hobbit
Summary: Drabble. In the midst of gathering everything Deluraw and Tanathron need in order to make more shrew-stomping boots, Eruimin suffers a little...accident.





	Twine on the Docks

Despite the cool temperature of that spring evening, Eruimin felt sweat bead at his olive-toned brow as he crouched low and stretched his arm out as far as he could reach. The elf-made twine sat innocently in the row boat tied to the dock, and Firithiel stood behind him, standing so still he suspected she was holding her breath.

He braced himself against the side of the boat when it became clear he wasn’t going to reach just by crouching on the edge of the dock. The soles of his Manthom-hunter boots clung questionably to the wooden edge underneath him, just as his Manthom-hunter clad hand braced questionably on the boat, which listed in his direction dangerously.

“Hurry, Eruimin!” Firithiel urged, the sound of scuffing telling him she was dancing from foot to foot anxiously. “Deluraw is waiting, and he might just leave because he can’t stand Tanathron’s glaring anymore.”

He huffed a sigh. “I wish they would stop whatever’s going on between them. This is the third time we’ve fetched supplies for those forsaken boots, and we’ve kept a steady stream of flax flowing Tanathron’s way—“

“They’re elves, Eruimin.”

He managed a jerky nod and leaned farther out over the water. His cape slid off his side and dipped its end into the water as he tensed his muscles in hopes of keeping the boat from drifting out to the end of it’s tether. “I suppose,” he grunted as he tried to tug his cape up and out of the water in an absentminded and futile act. For a moment the water made him miss the far east, in the shadow of the Red Mountains where water could only be found in the occasional river and oasis.

His attempts were fruitless, and his cape kept falling back into the water. In his final attempt, he yanked harder than before, and the boat disappeared from under his hand.

With a yell, he plunged down into the water of Celondim’s harbour.

For several moments, all he could perceive through the confusion was bubbles, water rushing into his ears as his throat tightened instinctively so he didn’t accidentally inhale water. He kicked wildly until he managed to right himself. His lungs burned, generating panic in his chest until he shoved it down.

In seconds, his head broke the surface, the water pulling down on his black hood until it was completely off his head, leaving his black hair to cling to his face. His beard clung to the underside of his chin as he took a huge, deep breath. He sank back down for a moment, and he accidentally inhaled water, but when he surfaced again he coughed it out.

He reached up and gripped the edge of the dock. He pulled himself halfway up and braced himself with his forearms on the wood. As he brushed the hair out of his face, he heard Firithiel drop the branches and flax to the decking, followed by a loud and long guffaw. His grey-brown eyes practically burned as he glared at her, but that didn’t stop her from laughing at his predicament.


End file.
